Baby is Now a Year Old
by Cazrolime
Summary: Oneshot, genfic. Fontaine goes to take a look at a certain young man's progress.


**Baby is Now a Year Old**

-

The room was fairly large, big enough for Jack to run laps around three times a day. Its far wall was grubbily whitewashed and pockmarked with bullet-holes. A life-sized wooden man's silhouette, with the heart marked in paint, was nailed to that wall; it shuddered and splintered as little chunks of lead ripped into it one by one. The shots echoed harshly. Head, head, chest, miss, shoulder, reload. Chest, chest, shoulder, head, elbow.

Jack paused, letting his pistol droop in front of him, and sighed with boredom.

"Can I stop yet, Papa Fontaine?"

Fontaine wasn't in the room, but Jack knew he would be watching through the one-way glass that made a long black rectangle on the wall to the left. Papa Suchong always told him when Fontaine would be supervising, and threatened him with punishment if he didn't put on his very best show.

The closed-circuit PA system crackled. "Do it again, kid. Lemme see you make a kill shot five times in a row."

"Fine." Grumpily, Jack shoved more bullets into the heavy pistol, took aim and fired five times. Head. Head. Heart. Heart. Heart.

As the clashing echoes of the last shot rang in his ears, Jack heard Fontaine's drawl again. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."

"Is it dinner time yet?"

This was an old routine. Jack didn't know why he had to learn all this stuff, so he didn't really care about anything other than getting it over with.

"Sure, why not. Get on out here, I'll see that somethin's fixed up for ya."

The crackling of the PA system died, and a tiny round light next to the sliding door switched to green. Jack hurried over to the weapons rack, dropped the pistol onto it between the rifle and the crossbow, and then made a beeline outside into the tiled corridor.

To his right, the door of the observation room hissed open, and Fontaine strode out in a business suit and a wreath of fragrant cigar smoke. Jack froze and stood against the door, getting out of the man's way, but Fontaine took no notice of him; he simply blew past, tucking a small silver lighter into his breast pocket. Uncertainly, Jack glanced sideways into the observation room; as the door closed, he saw the crouching form of Papa Suchong scribbling away in an official-looking notebook.

Jack jumped as Fontaine's voice boomed down the corridor: "You coming or not?"

"Yes, Papa Fontaine," he said quickly, hurrying after the man.

They passed a few more of the sturdy sliding doors. A lot of them were locked; they led to labs and doctors' rooms full of gleaming chrome and needles and machines that gave out sweets or electric shocks depending on how you answered their questions. One door about halfway along had had its lock disabled; that one led to Jack's bedroom.

"Shooting targets is boring," complained Jack loudly.

Fontaine cocked an eyebrow at him. "Ya think that?"

"Well, it _is_."

"Don't worry about it, kid." Fontaine chuckled to himself, letting thick cigar smoke puff out of his mouth like a dragon's breath. "You only gotta do it a little while longer."

"But what am I doing it _for?_"

Fontaine gave him a sharp look. "Would ya kindly stop asking me that?"

Jack made a choking noise, the words sticking in his throat, and he stopped walking and glared at Fontaine with all the fury of stunned betrayal. "You - you _promised_ you wouldn't say that!"

"And you promised ya wouldn't ask me that any more," said Fontaine coolly. "Guess we're both just liars."

"But--"

Jack was ashamed to feel the heated beginnings of tears pricking the backs of his eyes. He stopped talking, blinking angrily.

Fontaine sighed. "Look, kid. It's for your own good. You gotta learn ta do what you're told, ya know that." He inclined his head, crouching slightly so that his face was at the same level as Jack's. The smell of expensive tobacco and cologne clung to his shirt collar. "You go eat, ya must be starvin' after all that expert shooting. I'll be back here tomorra."

Despite himself, Jack blurted out: "You're not staying here?"

"Nah," Fontaine said with a grin, straightening up again. "I've got a busy evenin' aheada me. Things ta do, people ta scam."

Jack's face crumpled a little, disappointed. Usually he didn't mind the mentions of Papa Fontaine's cons and crooked ventures, and Fontaine seemed to enjoy having someone to whom he could boast about them, but after this conversation it was uncomfortable to imagine Fontaine going around lying to people.

Fontaine noticed Jack's expression. He pinched his cigar between two rough fingers, giving him a look that was both fatherly reproach and the annoyance of an adult at a child's tantrum. Then he winked.

"Don't worry, kid. Remember, it's only wrong if ya get caught."

He punched a code into the yellowing number-pad at the end of the hallway, and the door there slid open, allowing him to stride out of sight. Then it closed again with a faint _thunk_. Jack was left alone in the hallway.


End file.
